by Leah Atwood
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Epilogue
When It’s Forever
Always Faithful Three
Leah Atwood
Copyright © 2017 by Leah Atwood
Cover Design © Covers by Ramona
Cover Image © Adobestock.com
Unless otherwise noted, all Scripture quotations are taken from the HCSB®, Copyright ©
1999, 2000, 2002, 2003, 2009 by Holman Bible Publishers. Used by permission. HCSB® is a
federally registered trademark of Holman Bible Publishers
Scripture quotations taken from the New American Standard Bible® (NASB),
Copyright © 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973,
1975, 1977, 1995 by The Lockman Foundation
Used by permission. www.Lockman.org
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Epilogue
Letter from the Author
Other Available Titles
About the Author
“Your eyes saw me when I was formless; all my days were written in Your book and planned before a single one of them began.” Psalms 139:16
“For God did not send His Son into the world that He might condemn the world, but that the world might be saved through Him.” John 3:17
“The Lord’s lovingkindnesses indeed never cease, for His compassions never fail. They are new every morning; Great is Your faithfulness.” Lamentations 3:22-23 (NASB)
“Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; old things have passed away, and look, new things have come.” 2 Corinthians 5:17
Chapter One
Sunrays pierced the blinds and invaded Jared Scott’s bedroom. Like shards of broken glass, the light stabbed his eyes, and he groaned. He jerked the pillow from under his head and pressed it over his face to block the intrusion. The haughty motion and subsequent drop of his head increased the intensity of pounding against his temples. His whole head for that matter.
He moaned and rolled over into a pile of self-loathing. For all his intentions to clean up his act, he continued to fail miserably. How long had it been since he’d promised Evan and Janie he would quit drinking? Three weeks? Four? The constant hammering in his head prevented him from coming up with a solid answer.
Eyes closed, he knocked the pillow aside. The day wouldn’t wait for him to recover from a hangover. He’d made his choice, and now he’d have to suffer the consequence—and suffer he would. Mentally preparing himself to open his eyes, he counted to ten. When the beams hit his pupils, he blinked several times until his eyes adjusted.
He grumbled a few words, unintelligible even to himself due to dryness of his mouth. His tongue was ten times its normal size, or at least that’s how it felt. He rolled over onto his side and propped up on his elbow. Stretching out his other arm, he fumbled for the bottle of water on his nightstand. He twisted off the cap and downed the entire bottle.
The tepid water did nothing to relieve his case of cottonmouth. With a sigh, he laid back down, letting his arm hang over the bed. He let the bottle slide from his hand and fall to the floor. It made a soft thump on the carpet, but in Jared’s current state, the thud magnified to the sound of a jet engine crashing a roof.
Enough is enough. He couldn’t continue this way. Somehow, someway, he had to find a way to move on. To fight the memories without the aid of alcohol. It sounded so easy. So simple.
“Ghrrumph,” he snorted. If only.
His phone rang from somewhere on the floor. Though tempted to let it ring until his voicemail answered, he couldn’t ignore Evan. His three best friends—Evan, Wyatt, and Janie—each had a personalized ring tone, so he pushed against the dizziness that rolled over him when he sat up, and again when he leaned over.
The phone continued ringing from the pocket of his jeans he’d worn last night. Jared gripped the bed’s edge to keep from toppling over as he reached for the pants. He grabbed his cell and answered it. Tried to speak, but his mouth wouldn’t cooperate.
“You there?” Evan’s voice came through the line.
Jared swallowed and tried to talk again. “Yeah. What’s up?”
“Can you still make the tux fitting today?” A trace of irritation edged Evan’s words, and Jared had a suspicion his friend wasn’t oblivious to his activities last night.
“Yes.” Jared held the phone away from his head to check the calendar app. “Ten o’clock, right?”
Evan confirmed the appointment time. “It’s quarter after nine now.”
“I’ll be there, don’t worry.” He ended the call then stood up.
After stumbling a few paces, he found his balance and plodded into the kitchen. He grabbed the bottle of generic headache meds from the top of the fridge and emptied two pills into his hand. Popped them into his mouth and chased them with a fresh bottle of water from the fridge.
The sequence happened often enough that it could almost be called a habit. Guilt seeped into him, knowing this path had to stop, but he couldn’t think about that now. He had less than forty-five minutes to pull himself together, clean up, and get to the menswear store.
He covered his mouth through another yawn as he prepped the coffee maker. Letting it brew, he returned to his bedroom and grabbed a clean pair of clothes before heading to the bathroom. Hot water wasn’t a luxury he could afford in his condition. He needed the ice-cold treatment to break the morning-after fog.
The rich aroma of freshly brewed dark roast coffee greeted him after his shower. He poured a cup, inhaled a deep breath as if he could take in the caffeine through his lungs. Steaming liquid, undiluted with sugar or creamer, burnt the tip of his lip. He blew into the cup twice before taking another sip.
Once the remainder of it cooled down enough to guzzle, he downed the rest in a single gulp. He returned to the bathroom and ran a comb through his short hair. The cropped cut made his sandy blonde hair appear more of a light brown.
His normally vivid blue eyes were dulled by the bloodshot white surrounding them. He grabbed a bottle of drops from the sink counter and squirted each eye. With any luck, they’d clear up by the time he faced Evan. He wasn’t in the mood for the disappoin
ted brow-raises.
If he wanted that, all he’d have to do was look in the mirror. No one could be more upset with his behavior than he was, but he didn’t know how to change. He envied Wyatt, Evan, and Janie. They’d moved on with their lives and had found happiness and purpose.
Why couldn’t he? Why couldn’t he find that ever-elusive peace? Because you haven’t sought out the Prince of Peace. He shook his head. God wouldn’t want anything to do with him. Why should He? Jared had nothing to offer Him—or anyone else.
He was the reason Mike was on that helicopter. If he hadn’t goofed off the night before the mission and sprained his ankle, Mike never would have been on that flight. Sure, he could admit he hadn’t directly caused Mike’s death, but that admission did nothing to assuage his guilt. He was still responsible for Mike being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
That burden sent him to a dark place he couldn’t escape. He hated his weakness, despised himself every morning he woke up feeling like he’d had a losing collision with a freight train. Yet in the veil of night, he found comfort in the arms of a bottle.
For a few brief hours, he didn’t care about anything. He laughed and cut loose. Freed his mind from the haunting memories and washed away the guilt.
Made poor decisions.
He left the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him. Disgusted with himself, he stomped to the kitchen and filled a travel mug with the remaining coffee. Grabbed his keys off the counter and walked outside.
His truck wasn’t in the driveway, and he stifled the urge to curse. Too drunk to drive and his designated driver nowhere to be found, he’d taken a taxi home last night—one of the few good choices he’d made lately.
Reluctantly, he pulled his phone from his pocket. He took the coward’s way out and rather than call Evan, he shot him a quick text that he’d be late.
Evan’s response came seconds later. —How late?
A few minutes. He stopped short of sending the text and deleted what he’d typed. How many lies would he tell before they caught up to him? Hadn’t they already? He wrote a new message and sent it. —I need a ride.
—I’ll be there in ten. No questions asked, Evan would come to his rescue and—once again—prove himself to be the better friend.
Which did nothing for Jared’s current mental state. Few people were fortunate enough to find the quality of friends he had in his small group. He’d lied to them, betrayed their trust, and hadn’t reciprocated the support they’d shown him.
“No more.” He’d made the same vow on multiple mornings, but this time felt different. For the first time, he spoke it with conviction.
His life had to change. He didn’t know how, but the first step was coming clean to his friends. The second step required abstaining from alcohol—any vices, really. Somehow, he had to find a way to deal with what had happened in Afghanistan.
If he didn’t change his ways, who’s to say he wouldn’t make worse choices down the road. Maybe next time he wouldn’t call a cab, wreck his car and hurt himself—worse yet, hurt someone else or take their life. He’d never set out with that intention, but the beer and whiskey made him do things he regretted, that he would never have done if sober.
He leaned against the garage door while waiting for Evan. His insides churned, stirring up change. All the while, a voice whispered that it was too late. That he was too far gone to come back, and that he didn’t deserve a good life because he took away Mike’s chance for one. Taunting him and reminding him of all his shortcomings and weaknesses.
What kind of future was there for a man like him?
Evan drove up in his brand-new car. May’s tornado had damaged his old one beyond repair, and he’d driven a rental until deciding on the make and model he wanted. The mid-size sedan shouted family man, and Jared’s jaw twitched with unwanted envy. Not that he had any desire to marry anytime soon, but he couldn’t deny that the idea of falling in love and sharing a life with someone held a certain appeal.
It was the settling down part that drew him. What he wouldn’t give to experience the sensation of settled. Turmoil defined his life, drawn into a tailspin by the constant warring of his heart, mind, and soul. If he fell in love, had someone to share his life with, would that help him find a measure of peace like it had for Wyatt when he reunited with ex-wife Meg, and then for Evan and Janie when they fell in love with each other?
Their peace comes from God, not each other.
He scrunched his nose. Why did his conscience always circle back to God? Twice already this morning, in less than an hour, it had crept into his thoughts, with his mind giving the same response. I’m not worthy.
“You look like you’ve seen better days.” Evan stood with his arms crossed and resting atop the opened car door.
“Probably because I have.” He tried to shake off the stupor that held him in place.
Evan’s gaze darted to the empty spot in the driveway. “Where’s your truck?”
Unable to look his friend in the eye, Jared rubbed a hand along his jaw and trained his line of vision on the house across the street. “Jake’s.”
“As in Jake’s Tavern?” Evan’s tone conveyed little surprise.
“Yes.” He owned his mistake and looked at Evan. Took a deep breath then exhaled slowly. “I meant it when I said I’d stop. And I mean it every morning that I wake up with a pounding headache and tell myself it won’t happen again.” His voice dropped to a near whisper. “I want to, but can’t seem to.”
The vow he’d made minutes ago for the umpteenth time crossed his mind. He still felt the same conviction that this time would be different, but how could he know? Hadn’t he been determined each time before?
Stepping out from behind the door, Evan came to stand in front of him. “You’re my friend, and I love you like a brother. I’ll be here to help any way I can, but the truth is, I can’t get you out of this. Take it from someone who’s been there. You can’t outrun, outwit, or out-drink the memories.”
Jared swallowed, well aware of that truth. “I know.”
“I think you also know the way out, but feel you don’t deserve it.” Evan squeezed his shoulder. “And the reality of it is, none of us do, which makes it that much more beautiful.”
Evan hit the proverbial nail on the head, but that didn’t surprise Jared. If anyone understood the battles he faced daily, it was Evan and Wyatt. It seemed so easy, but …
Chapter Two
Sybil Hollis rummaged through her closet, searching for an outfit to wear. Her best friend Liz wanted their group to go out tonight and celebrate her thirtieth birthday, but all Sybil wanted to do was curl up in bed and fall asleep.
How’s that for excitement? She hadn’t stayed home on a Friday night in months. She enjoyed the night life. Didn’t most single women in their twenties? In two years, she’d have her turn at hitting thirty and then she’d stay home more, maybe think about finding a serious boyfriend and possibly settling down. As if I know anything about that.
She lifted a hanger and looked at the off-the-shoulder shimmery gray top. Matched with her new black skirt that clung tightly to her and showed off her toned legs, the outfit would be a hit. At five-foot-three-inches tall, she hadn’t inherited her mother’s height but had gotten her killer legs, and she’d be sure to attract attention with that outfit. A smile curled her lips, and the idea rejuvenated her.
A niggling thought persisted, erasing her smile as quickly as it had appeared. For weeks, she’d questioned whether she actually liked her status quo or if she continued on because that’s all she knew. She didn’t take life seriously—no doubt about that—a lesson she’d learned from her mom.
Entrapments were a headache, responsibilities a bore. Relationships—who needed them?
Sybil found the black skirt on the lower closet rod and then dropped the clothes on her bed. “I’m not exactly like Mom. At least I’ve held down a job.”
Silence answered her. True, she’d had the same job for five years, but that
’s because she enjoyed a certain amount of stability. Unlike her mother, she didn’t relish changing apartments every few months before eviction proceedings could begin, and she refused to use a man for financial gain. Just because she liked male attention didn’t mean she’d take advantage of it. Not in a pay-the-bills kind of way, at least. Having free drinks bought for her because of her appearance was a far cry from giving her body to a man so he’d buy her groceries for the week.
Justify it all you want.
She wrinkled her nose. Why couldn’t she go back to the days she didn’t question her lifestyle? Back to when she didn’t realize how badly her childhood had messed her up and shaped her early adulthood? Until several weeks ago, she’d considered herself well-adjusted. She had a job, a group of friends—albeit, those relationships only went surface deep—and was happy.
From the moment she saw them, she started to question her life. She and Shellie had gone for half-price appetizers and drinks late on Wednesday evening. A large coed group filled the corner booth of the restaurant. They’d all laughed and had a great time. Joy radiated from their faces. All drank water, tea, or soda. Not a one had a beer or mixed drink. Yet they had a blast, seeming to genuinely enjoy each other’s company. And when their food came, they all bowed their heads and prayed.
She’d never seen anything like it and couldn’t stop watching them until Shellie asked her what she was staring at. Taking a risk at deeper conversation than their norm, she’d told Shellie what she’d observed. Her friend had laughed at her, told her she was reading too much into it and then proceeded to order a second daiquiri.
On the way out, Sybil had noticed several from the group wore similar shirts with the name of a church on them. What would church be like? She’d never stepped foot in one. Mom didn’t believe in organized religion and had branded all church people judgmental hypocrites.
She’d never cared enough to find out if it was true. The entire concept of church and religion was foreign to her, and she’d never thought she was missing out on anything.